little kid likes to play with hair clips and barrettes (isn't that a weird word? I just had to check it twice) and he especially loves to put them in my hair. He used to put them in his own hair but Big Kid gave him hell about that so he quit.
I was indulging him in his passion for hair dressing today, lying on my stomach and reading from my laptop as he fluffed my curls and attached about 15 clips to different clumps. It felt good; he even rubbed my neck and shoulders a little. I felt pretty and loved.
After trotting back to the bathroom, he reappeared with a blush brush and giggled as he tickled my arm with it. I laughed too and told him that I was having a nice makeover. Then I asked him to put my blush brush back where he had found it.
He returned, approaching me from behind and laughing as he leaned over me on the bed. I felt a cool, tingly little plop in the center of my head. I raised my hand to my hair and found...a small mountain of mineral foundation, spilling down my shoulders and onto my sheets. There was a trail of it from the bathroom to my bed and it was spilled all over the sink and counter.
I had no more mineral foundation, a huge mess to clean up, an oddly flesh colored scalp and dull, powdery hair.
And that concluded my makeover.